From Riot Grrrls to R&B Queens: How 90s Feminist Music Took on the System
Part 6 of "From Suffragettes to Taylor Swift: The Feminist History of Protest Songs"
The 1990s ushered in the era of third-wave feminism—messier, bolder, and more inclusive than the waves before it. If second-wave feminism fought for workplace rights and reproductive freedom, the third wave came with tattoos, zines, and combat boots, demanding space for intersectionality, sexual autonomy, and a broader definition of womanhood.
At the same time, feminism faced a cultural backlash. Media mocked “angry feminists,” beauty standards got even more punishing (shoutout to heroin chic), and empowerment was increasingly packaged and sold—most famously as girl power™.
It was in this paradoxical landscape that female musicians across genres grabbed the mic—not just to sing, but to fight. Across genres, they used music to push back against sexism, beauty standards, and gender roles—sometimes subtly, sometimes loudly. This is the story of how feminist anthems from the 90s helped define a generation.
The Message: Feminism Got Louder, Weirder, and More Marketable
Women in the 90s music scene weren’t playing by anyone’s rules. Some leaned into the mainstream, sneaking feminist messages into pop and R&B radio hits. Others raged from the fringes, unapologetically raw and radical.
What united them was a shared willingness to challenge the system—whether it was the beauty industry, gender roles, sexual violence, or the music business itself.
There wasn’t one sound to feminism in the 90s. There were many, and that was the point.
Riot Grrrls: The Punk-Feminist Rebellion
Before the Spice Girls sold girl power to the masses, the Riot Grrrl movement was screaming it into the void. Emerging from the punk underground, Riot Grrrl bands like Bikini Kill, Bratmobile, and Sleater-Kinney used their music to call out sexism, sexual violence, and the male-dominated music industry.
Bikini Kill’s “Rebel Girl” (1993) became the unofficial Riot Grrrl anthem—a raw, unapologetic celebration of women supporting women. Produced by Joan Jett (because of course it was), the song wasn’t just about empowerment, it was about radical feminist resistance.
Le Tigre – “Hot Topic” (1999)
If riot grrrl had an afterparty in a queer art gallery with strobe lights and a feminist reading list, it would sound like Le Tigre’s debut album. Formed by Kathleen Hanna (formerly of Bikini Kill), Johanna Fateman, and Sadie Benning, Le Tigre fused punk politics with lo-fi electronics, feminist theory, and unapologetic queer energy. Their 1999 self-titled album was less a debut than a manifesto—with dance beats.
“Hot Topic” stands out as a standout tribute track and a feminist call to action. It’s essentially a name-drop list of icons—artists, activists, musicians, writers—who shaped feminist and queer thought. Everyone from Nina Simone to Yoko Ono, Gertrude Stein to Vaginal Davis gets a shoutout, layered over pulsing synths and Hanna’s signature rally-cry vocals.
But this isn’t some nostalgia trip. “Hot Topic” insists that feminism is not a solo act—it’s a collective movement built by Black women, queers, punks, and weirdos who made space for others to breathe louder. The song is as much a celebration as it is a syllabus.
Le Tigre’s debut album—and this track in particular—signaled a new kind of feminist music for the digital age: experimental, accessible, and deeply rooted in activism. It wasn’t asking for radio play. It was asking why the radio kept playing the same damn thing.
Hip-Hop’s Feminist Queens: Speaking Truth to Power
In a genre often dominated by men and laced with misogyny, women in 90s hip-hop didn’t just make space—they kicked the door down and rewrote the rules. They used their mics not just to entertain, but to confront violence, challenge stereotypes, and demand respect.
Queen Latifah – “U.N.I.T.Y.” (1993)
Let’s be clear: this wasn’t just a song—it was a statement. With lyrics like “Who you callin’ a bitch?” Queen Latifah called out street harassment, domestic violence, and gendered slurs in one of the boldest tracks ever to hit mainstream airwaves. The song earned her a Grammy and made it crystal clear that feminism belonged in hip-hop—loudly and unapologetically.
Lauryn Hill – The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill (1998)
Lauryn Hill’s landmark solo album wasn’t just award-winning—it was soul-shaking. Across tracks like “Doo Wop (That Thing)” and “To Zion,” Hill reflected on race, womanhood, motherhood, and independence with lyrical genius and emotional depth. She didn’t just spit truth—she taught a masterclass in vulnerability and strength.
Missy Elliott – Supa Dupa Fly (1997)
When Supa Dupa Fly dropped, Missy Elliott didn’t just crash the party—she rewrote the guest list. In an era where women in hip-hop were expected to either hypersexualize or masculinize themselves to survive, Missy carved out a third space entirely: one of radical creativity, playful futurism, and uncompromising control over her image and sound.
The album wasn’t about fitting into a mold—it was about demolishing the mold altogether. From her signature trash-bag suit in “The Rain (Supa Dupa Fly)” to the surreal, otherworldly visuals that would become her calling card, Missy refused to perform femininity on anyone’s terms but her own. She rapped, sang, produced, innovated—and she did it all while refusing to shrink herself to make the industry comfortable.
As BMP Voices put it, Missy Elliott “disrupted hip-hop’s masculine visual and sonic codes” and offered a blueprint for what unapologetic, genre-bending Black womanhood could look and sound like. She wasn’t asking to be taken seriously. She was already 10 steps ahead of everyone else.
And the receipts? They’re platinum. Literally. Missy is a five-time Grammy winner with over 30 million albums sold worldwide, and to this day, she remains the only female rapper to have all six of her studio albums certified platinum by the RIAA. Feminist legacy secured. Crown on.
Together, these women didn’t just participate in hip-hop culture—they reshaped it, forcing it to make room for feminism, authenticity, and complexity in a space that desperately needed all three.
Pop and R&B: Mainstream Feminism or Marketable Rebellion?
While punk and hip-hop were making noise, mainstream pop and R&B were offering a more accessible, but no less important, version of feminism.
No Doubt’s “Just a Girl” (1995) was a sarcastic, biting takedown of gender expectations, with Gwen Stefani rolling her eyes at the infantilization of women in society. The song’s upbeat energy made it easy to miss how scathing its lyrics really were. (Note: Gwen Stefani has disappointed us recently, but the song still has it’s place in this collection. Especially with the absolutely epic version done by Florence + The Machine did for the sountrack of the Yellowjackets.)
Meredith Brooks’ “Bitch” (1997)
“I’m a bitch, I’m a lover, I’m a child, I’m a mother…” If you were alive in 1997, you probably just started singing it. This Grammy-nominated alt-rock anthem wasn’t just catchy—it was a declaration of multifaceted womanhood at a time when women were expected to pick a single lane and stay in it.
Meredith Brooks didn’t invent the idea that women are complex, but she shouted it into the mainstream with electric guitar, unapologetic lyrics, and just the right amount of snarl. “Bitch” walked a line between pop accessibility and alt-rock grit, making it relatable for radio listeners while still resonating with the Riot Grrrl-influenced ethos of self-definition.
While some critics dismissed the song as gimmicky or overly edgy (spoiler: they were men), “Bitch” actually hit a nerve because it refused to simplify or sanitize the experience of being a woman. It was messy. It was honest. And it said what a lot of us were thinking.
TLC’s “Unpretty” (1999)
Originally a poem by TLC’s own T-Boz (Tionne Watkins), “Unpretty” was transformed into a chart-topping anthem thanks to a little help from producer Dallas Austin and some real, raw honesty. Released as a single from their FanMail album, the song struck a deep cultural nerve with its critique of beauty standards, body image issues, and the emotional violence of trying to live up to someone else’s ideal.
Lyrically, “Unpretty” does something revolutionary—it speaks directly to women’s inner voices. “You can buy your hair if it won’t grow / You can fix your nose if he says so…” is not just catchy; it’s devastating in its truth. At a time when plastic surgery was booming and magazine covers were more Photoshop than person, TLC called out the toxic pressure to self-modify for love, validation, or visibility.
The song spent three weeks at #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 and earned Grammy nominations for Song of the Year and Best Pop Performance by a Duo or Group with Vocals. Not bad for a track that essentially says, “Hey, maybe you don’t need to carve yourself up to be worthy.”
The accompanying music video doubled down on the message, depicting women struggling with eating disorders, breast implants, and controlling relationships—offering a haunting visual counterpart to the song’s emotional punch.
“Unpretty” wasn’t just another 90s R&B slow jam. It was a direct, powerful challenge to beauty culture, toxic relationships, and the emotional labor of femininity—and it came wrapped in one of the smoothest melodies of the decade.
These songs may have been more radio-friendly than Riot Grrrl punk, but their messages weren’t any less radical.
Country Feminism: The Silent Revolution That Deserves More Credit
Country music doesn’t usually show up on feminist playlists—but maybe it should. Beneath all the twang and tradition, the 90s country scene was quietly staging a feminist revolt, one three-chord story at a time. While punk screamed and pop sparkled, country offered something else: narratives of real women reaching their breaking point—and walking out, guns blazing (sometimes literally).
Mary Chapin Carpenter – “He Thinks He’ll Keep Her” (1992)
Don’t let the toe-tapping melody fool you—this song is a lyrical eye-roll aimed straight at domestic complacency. Based on a sexist Geritol commercial, it tells the story of a woman who spent 15 years raising kids and holding it all together… until she doesn’t. Instead of a dramatic exit, she just gets a job, finds her voice, and never looks back. Quiet rebellion? Absolutely. And devastatingly effective.
The Chicks – “Goodbye Earl” (1999)
Now this is what happens when country girls get fed up. Wanda and Mary Ann don’t wait for the justice system—they handle Wanda’s abusive husband themselves, with a side of poisoned peas. It’s campy, yes, but it’s also a cathartic fantasy about sisterhood, survival, and the consequences of underestimating women.
Martina McBride – “Independence Day” (1994)
This one’s less revenge fantasy, more emotional gut punch. Framed from the perspective of a young daughter, the song recounts a mother’s final act of defiance: setting fire to her house to escape her abusive husband—at any cost. Written by Gretchen Peters, it was too real for some radio stations, but a lifeline for women who saw their stories buried beneath country’s good-ol’-boy image.
These weren’t just sad songs in pretty packages. They were coded resistance, smuggled into a genre that often romanticized the very power structures these women were trying to escape. No Riot Grrrl distortion pedals. No glitter. Just a steel guitar, a sharp pen, and the courage to call bullshit.
Country feminism might not have been as loud as Riot Grrrl punk or as commercially successful as “girl power” pop, but it was deeply rooted in real experiences. These songs weren’t just catchy—they were lifelines for women who saw their own struggles reflected in the music. Whether through quiet defiance, hard-earned freedom, or outright revenge, country music proved that feminism isn’t just for urban activists or radical punks. It’s for any woman who’s ever been told to stay in her place and decided instead to pick up a guitar and tell her own damn story.
Conclusion: The Revolution Was Multitrack
The feminist anthems of the 1990s didn’t come from one place or one sound—they came from everywhere. From punk dive bars to pop arenas, from Southern backroads to hip-hop’s golden age, women across the musical spectrum were done waiting to be heard. They sang about survival, autonomy, rage, joy, and the relentless pressure to be something prettier, quieter, or more acceptable. And they didn’t ask for permission.
These songs weren’t just empowering—they were disruptive, in the best way. They challenged not only the men in charge, but the sanitized, sellable version of feminism that was being packaged and marketed back to women under the label of “girl power.” They reminded us that real empowerment isn’t pink and sparkly—it’s messy, loud, rebellious, and deeply personal.
But let’s be honest: not all of that resistance stuck. The 2000s rolled in with low-rise jeans, lad mags, and a whole new era of post-feminist “I’m not like other girls” nonsense (I’m looking at you P!NK and that song “Most Girls”…). Some of the progress made by these artists got buried under glittery commercialism or erased by industry executives still afraid of the f-word (feminism, not the other one—but probably that too).
Still, the legacy of 90s feminist music endures—not just in retrospectives and playlists, but in the way it gave women and femmes permission to claim their space, their stories, and their volume. The sounds may have shifted, but the message is still humming in the background. You can hear it every time a girl picks up a guitar, lays down a beat, or walks out the door whispering “I think I’ll keep myself.”
So turn it up. Sing along. The 90s taught us that the revolution doesn’t need permission. It just needs a beat.
The 1990s gave us feminist anthems that were loud, weird, righteous, and occasionally broadcast live on MTV. But as the decade came to a close, the cultural tides were shifting. Enter the 2000s: a decade of lip gloss feminism, low-rise jeans, and empowerment anthems sandwiched between reality TV meltdowns and MySpace playlists.
In the next installment, we’ll dive into the complicated landscape of 2000s feminist music—where messages of liberation were often filtered through auto-tune, and “girl power” had to survive the rise of the male gaze 2.0.
Get ready for contradictions, comebacks, and a lot of eyeliner. See you in the next chapter.